


Small Bump

by LadyCavil



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:20:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4140999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyCavil/pseuds/LadyCavil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Athos watched Aramis wear a path in the grass with his incessant pacing. Back and forth, back and forth for nearly two hours to the point that Athos was beginning to wonder which would need to be repaired first, the lawn or Aramis’ boots."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Bump

**Author's Note:**

> Just a thing I wrote while listening to Ed Sheeran’s “Small Bump”. It’s set sometime between season 1 and season 2.

                Athos watched Aramis wear a path in the grass with his incessant pacing. Back and forth, back and forth for nearly two hours to the point that Athos was beginning to wonder which would need to be repaired first, the lawn or Aramis’ boots.

                He knew by the way Aramis’ brow furrowed and his hand never relented its white-knuckled grip on his jeweled crucifix where his brother’s thoughts were, but he had not yet ascertained why.

                In any event, Athos was glad Porthos and d’Artagnan were on a mission in Montpelier. While Porthos' presence would calm Aramis’ restlessness, Aramis was struggling to keep the truth from his dearest friend. He’d lost count of the times he’d seen the confession forming in Aramis’ mind, the words threatening to burst forth like water from a dam, _I slept with the Queen, and the Dauphin is my son_. The moment always passed for some reason or another, either duty calling or Aramis being reminded of the consequences for bearing the burden he shared with Athos alone.

                It was clear that Porthos knew information was being withheld, that he was intentionally being kept in the dark, a truth that might not pain him so much if it wasn’t so obvious that Athos was privy to the cause of Aramis’ ongoing grief.

                d’Artagnan’s absence was nothing short of a godsend. The young man had yet to learn when to leave a matter be, and so should he be the one to catch Aramis pacing the way he was, the lad wouldn’t stop badgering the marksman until the issue was divulged or he was soundly chastised for being so blasted nosy.

                So, left alone and knowing that he’d be incapable of getting through to his brother until his fierce and determined gait tapered to something closer to trudging, Athos settled for watching over Aramis, ensuring they remained undisturbed in the area of the gardens where they’d been for the greater portion of the morning.

                Around midday Aramis’ motion faltered, and he swayed briefly before Athos caught him. Together they slowly sank to the lawn, Athos offering Aramis water the moment they were seated upon the grass. For some time, they remained there, silent and motionless aside from Aramis steadily consuming every drop of water in Athos’ water-skin.

                Aramis took a deep breath, the exhale morphing into a sigh as he reclined until he was gazing up at the clouds drifting across the sky in what he felt to be a rather lackadaisical manner.

                Athos remained close at hand and prayed for the patience to wait Aramis out; pushing his friend into speaking prematurely rarely ended in fruitful conversation. Just when Athos had become interested in a clover patch beside his knee, Aramis heaved a sigh once more. He looked to his brother and found him blinking rapidly with his hands caught up in in the dark waves of his hair.

                “Aramis?” Athos tried, hopeful that Aramis’ walls were crumbling. “What ails you, brother?” He abandoned his sitting position to sink into the grass close enough to Aramis that their shoulders rubbed against each other.

                “It’s nothing. I’m being ridiculous and irrational; that’s all.”

                Aramis sniffed, and they fell silent again while Aramis hoped Athos would let the issue go and Athos pondered how to convince Aramis of his willingness to listen.

                “I know things have been different…strained between us of late, and I’ve allowed the events of recent months to create friction and distance between us, but that was never my intention. Never for a moment was that what I wanted.”

                Athos turned his head and found Aramis giving him his undivided attention. Taking it as a sign that his olive branch was, at the very least, not rejected, Athos plowed on.

                “Having said that, I want you to know that if you ever want to talk or drown your thoughts in wine, if you need _anything_ , I _am_ here for you.” Athos let his offer hang in the air, unwilling to push the issue or cloud the air with superfluous clarifications despite feeling that his words had been terribly inadequate.

                Nearly a minute later Athos heard the soft clearing of Aramis’ throat and felt relief flood through him. Perhaps he had managed to say the right thing.

                “Truly I am being a fool,” Aramis began. “I’m afraid of losing him, the baby. Anne is- the mother of my- _the_ child- Oh, damn it all!” Aramis huffed, every iota of his frustration begging to be released.

                Athos scanned the garden around them and saw that, aside from him and Aramis, the area was as deserted as it had been all morning long.

                “Aramis. Anne, the mother of your child…” Athos said, encouraging his friend to, just this once, openly express what it was that could never be said in the presence of others. Aramis took a deep breath in response and tried again.

                “She’s as far along in her pregnancy as Isabelle was when she…” Aramis sat up cleared his throat, rubbed a hand down the side of his face, “when we lost the baby.” The words left his mouth barely loud enough to be considered a whisper.

                Understanding swept over Athos, but he remained silent so Aramis could continue uninterrupted.

                “It’s ridiculous, but…she’s miscarried before, and I’m not sure either of us could survive that again. I wish there was something I could do, but there’s nothing, no way I can protect her and the baby.” Aramis lowered his head to rest on his knees and sighed again.

                “When was the last time you were assigned near her?”

                “The day they announced it.”

                Athos considered his brother’s answer. Several months had passed since then, and in all of that time Aramis had barely seen the woman carrying his child. Realizing this, Athos could not fault his brother for losing himself to his thoughts and fears, especially if the Queen was as far along as Isabelle had been.

                “I know it’s not nearly enough, but if I could convince Tréville to assign you to palace duty, possibly on a regular basis, would that help or make it worse?”

“Help,” Aramis answered instantly, a hint of desperation coloring the word. “It would be a great help.”

                “Then I’ll speak with the captain, but Aramis, if I find you with her again, it will be an utterly tragic day for the women of Paris.” Athos’ tone was a combination of relief at easing his brother’s mind somewhat and his absolute fear that somehow this was going to be a moment he looked back on later and pinpointed as the exact second he let things get out of hand. Shaking away the feeling, he rose to his feet and offered a hand to aid Aramis in rising.

                “Thank you, Athos, for everything.”

                “Anytime, brother,” Athos assured him as they began walking in the direction of Athos’ lodgings.

                “I believe you mentioned wine earlier,” Aramis recalled, and a small smile graced Athos’ lips.

                “Indeed, I did.”

                Athos was not foolish enough to believe Aramis’ worries had all been dispelled by a single, brief conversation, but he felt that providing a moment of comfort and support for his comrade was all he could do for the time being. He wished for a moment Porthos did know of their secret; that man nearly always knew what Aramis needed to crawl out of his darker, more pensive days. Perhaps when Porthos returned with d’Artagnan with Montpelier, Athos could learn a few things from him…


End file.
